


maybe together we can get somewhere

by blackberry_jam



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Excessive Use of the Word ‘Fuck’, M/M, No Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29899107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberry_jam/pseuds/blackberry_jam
Summary: Richie Tozier’s got a plan. And he actually took time to brush his hair this morning, making sure that it was sitting properly, so it’s pretty serious.or,Richie Tozier drives to school each day, and each day he drives past Eddie Kaspbrak. All he has to do is convince him to get in.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	maybe together we can get somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> based on the prompt: “I drive to school and you walk and I drive past you everyday and it’s below freezing and you’re still walking please just get in the damn car I’ll drive you”, from tumblr. (link in end notes)

“I drive to school and you walk and I drive past you everyday and it’s below freezing and you’re still walking please just get in the damn car I’ll drive you”

-

January arrives, as it does every year, in all of its glory. Its snow storm, sub-zero temperature glory. Citizens of Derry, Maine, ring in the new year wrapped in multiple coats, glance at the illegal fireworks display their neighbors inevitably put on (or, watch the ball drop on their television sets) and shuffle back inside to turn up the heating and possibly put another layer on. 

Beds are covered with duvets and then the spare duvet and then the knitted blanket you received for Christmas and swore you were never going to use, but end up using anyway. Seeing a window open is a rare sight (and a particularly brave move on the house owners part) and children shriek up and down the streets, throwing balled up chunks of snow at each other. 

Richie Tozier spends his Christmas break at his grandmother's house on his dad’s side. As the twentieth of December arrives, Maggie and Wentworth Tozier pack the abundance of Christmas presents and bundle their son into the Land Rover and begin the long drive up. And so it begins, a whirlwind of nights spent crammed into one of the spare rooms with a whole host of preteen cousins, days spent entertaining slash hiding from said cousins and camping out in the back room with the headphones from his Walkman pressed firmly over his ears. On Christmas Eve, he is sent to bed especially early, only to be harassed by a barrage of questions about Santa Claus before he finally drifts off into restless sleep. Christmas Day is spent, yawning from his spot by the Christmas tree as he opens up yet another pair of socks and “oh, wow, great, thanks uncle James, you know me so well”. By the time the twenty-sixth rolls around, he’s well and truly sick of it. It’s with a sigh of relief that he’s packed back in the car and they drive towards home again.

The rest of winter break is spent fending off calls from his mother’s side of the family and promising to call them back later.

A couple days later, school starts up again.

MONDAY

The roads are still covered in just enough ice, snow banks lining the road, for any reasonable parent to have a fleeting thought of worry about their children heading out into the elements. Not enough to call up the school and demand they get to stay home, though, Richie Tozier notes bitterly, as he shrugs on a jacket and grabs the car keys from their hook by the front door, bumping the Home Sweet Home plaque that sits above them. Lacing up his shoes and throwing his backpack over his shoulder, he calls out a goodbye over his shoulder, to his mother (somewhere in the kitchen) and his father (getting ready for work). 

As expected, the icy weather is evident as soon as he backs his car (secondhand, purchased from a little old lady who assured them that the musty smell had been there since she bought it. Spoiler alert: it hadn’t) out of the garage, through the driveway and into the street. It’s too early in the morning for young children to be out rolling around in the snow banks, and the slightly older ones are all getting ready for school. There’s a clump of twelve-thirteen year olds standing around the bus stop, coats tugged tight around their shoulders and hats pulled down hard over their ears. God, Richie doesn’t miss middle school.

The radio dial is broken (thanks, old lady) but the tape player still works (only just) and after bashing the side of his hand against it for thirty-ish seconds, We Built This City blasts through the old (and slightly crackly) speakers. The heaters kick on after a couple of moments, and sitting in the car isn’t as unpleasant as it was just moments beforehand. 

He’s pulling into Kossuth street, mumbling along to something that vaguely resembles the lyrics of what is now We Didn’t Start The Fire (does anyone actually know all of them?), when he sees him, head down against the bracing wind, coat, hat, scarf, gloves, the whole package. His hair is a dark brown colour, and Richie’s not sure if it’s just the way he’s bent over to avoid the wind, or if he’s just really short (then again, everyone looks short to Richie, after his growth spurt in the seventh grade). The snow is swirling around and as soon as Richie turns the corner, he’s forgotten all about him. 

TUESDAY

If Monday mornings are awful, then Tuesday’s are even worse. The alarm comes on with a blaring blast of radio, before Richie can reach out a hand to slap the button to shut it up. He lays around in bed for another fifteen minutes, ignoring his mother’s calls from the kitchen, on the thin cliff between wake and sleep until his mom stomps up the staircase to wrench open his door and pull the curtains back, allowing the sunlight into his bedroom. 

With a resigned groan, he pulls himself out of bed as his mother huffs, her hands on her hips, back down to the kitchen. Once dressed, he haphazardly runs a comb through his hair before giving up and throwing it back on the bathroom sink. Down in the kitchen, his mom’s buttering toast and so he grabs a piece, much to her annoyance that he’s “not eating a proper breakfast”, and takes his keys from their hook and makes his way to the front door, throwing his winter coat over his shoulder as he goes.

The front yard is still covered in a thin layer of snow, but the driveway is clear from where his father cleared it the previous night. His car, fondly nicknamed Angie, by his friends, is sitting in the garage. 

The majority of the short trip goes without incident, and is so unremarkably usual that it doesn’t deserve comment. It’s not until he’s pulling into Kossuth Street, as with the previous day, where he sees the boy again. Today, he’s got gloves on, a dark blue and he’s wearing the same grey coat as yesterday. His head is bowed against the cold wind, and it’s not until Richie drives last him, with an obnoxious roar and a spray of sleet, that he looks up. 

Richie barely has time to recognise him before the boy has stopped, turned completely towards him and flipped him off with both hands, shouting something unintelligible over the noise of the car. Richie cackles with laughter as he pulls out of the street, turning slightly in his seat to get a last glimpse of him.

He, in question, is Eddie Kaspbrak, a boy who sits behind him in English class and in front of him in Science. He’s never spoken a word to him, but in that moment Richie’s pretty sure he’s in love.

WEDNESDAY

On Wednesday morning, Richie is eager to get out of bed. It’s basically a Christmas Miracle. His mother remarks as such, as he bounds down the staircase that morning. In order to please her, he makes himself some “proper breakfast”, which means pouring some of his mother’s whole-grain cereal into a bowl and scoffing it before he makes it out the door.

It’s still freezing today, and the days slowly creeping by isn’t doing anything to quell the horrid weather. It doesn’t matter really, if anything the cold weather is better. Richie Tozier’s got a plan. And he actually took time to brush his hair this morning, making sure that it was sitting properly, so it’s pretty serious.

He doesn’t even bother with the radio, instead choosing to crank up the heater and reverse out of his driveway and down towards Kossuth slightly faster than he probably should. 

He’s still driving slightly faster than he probably should be when he pulls into Kossuth and spots Eddie making his way up the sidewalk. He pulls into the curb beside him and hastily rolls down the window. Eddie stops to watch him, a weary expression on his face. 

Once Richie’s managed to fumble with the handle and the window is down, and even with the heater going full blast, the cold fills the car within a matter of seconds.

“Hi.” Richie says, smoothly swinging one arm out of the window to lean further out the window.

“What the fuck do you want?” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest in an almost comical manner as he glares Richie down. He looks mad and Richie really wants to kiss him.

“Want a lift?”

“No.”

Eddie’s response is quick, and Richie fights the urge to pout.

“But it’s freezing,” Richie prompts. If Eddie refuses to get in the car then his careful planning is going to come to nothing. “And we’re going to the same place.”

“Wow! That’s definitely not something a kidnapper would say!” Eddie’s arms fly around when he gets angry and Richie finds it oddly endearing.

“Why would I kidnap you?” Richie asks. “I’m literally your age. Do you want to walk to school in this weather?”

“Maybe you’re part of a gang and you work as the undercover person for your child sex trafficking ring.”

“Well, you got me,” Richie sighs, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “I was only posing as a ridiculously hot high school student in an attempt to fuck your mother.”

“Fucking hell!” Eddie exclaims, bringing his hands away from Richie as if he was burnt. “What are you, twelve?”

“Close enough.” Richie shrugs. “So, is that a yes on the lift?”

“Which part of what I just said, made you believe it was a yes?” Eddie scoffed. “I wouldn’t get in that death trap if you paid me.”

Richie shrugged again, painting a wince onto his face. “Your loss, man. You have fun walking in this weather while I sit here with the heater on.”

“I will.” Eddie promised, nodding as he spoke. 

“Sure thing.” Richie huffed out a laugh as he rolled the window back up, and pulled the car back from the curb, waving over his shoulder at Eddie, who hadn’t moved from the sidewalk, his eyes still on the back of his car.

Later that day, in science class, Richie ignores Mr Stevens’ ramblings about genetics and chromosomes in order to stare at the back of Eddie’s head and the way his hair curls up at the back of his neck.

THURSDAY

Maybe a less stubborn, less determined person would have given up. Anyone with a proper sense of boundaries would have taken Eddie’s response to be a clear indication of his opinion and would have steered clear. Anyone with a shred of respect for themselves would have taken a different route to school to avoid glimpsing him.

Luckily, or unluckily if you wish to see it that way, Richie Tozier is none of the above. And so, he finds himself up early and out the door quickly on Thursday morning and kicks himself a path through the snow to his car. 

By the time he pulls into Kossuth, Eddie’s halfway up the street, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Richie, who has already decided the way to get him in the car is to be as obnoxious as possible, slams his hand onto the horn. It rings out into the empty street, echoing off the front of the houses and the snow banks in a low pitched squeal. Eddie reacts instantly, turning around to find the source of the noise, an angry look on his face. As soon as he sees the car belongs to Richie, he throws his arms up in defiance.

Richie comes to a stop beside him and removes his hand from the horn while reaching for the window handle. Before he can begin to roll it down, Eddie has wrenched open the drivers side door and is berating the living fuck out of him. Richie kind of wants to hold his hand.

“— and have you ever heard of neighborhood watch, fuckhead? My neighbors are like fucking sniffer dogs, they’ll be calling the cops over this. And then my mom will be paranoid that our street is occupied by a serial killer and guess who won’t be allowed outside of the house for the next month.” Eddie pauses to take a deep breath, his cheeks flushed pink.

“You finished, Eds?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Eddie snaps. “Also, it’s really fucking cold.”

“So, I could give you a lift,” Richie prompts. “And then, you don’t have to be in the cold.”

“Are you joking?” Eddie steps back with a laugh. “After you fucking pulled that.” He gestures wildly towards the steering wheel.

“It would get you out of the cold?” Richie tries, somewhat desperately.

“Not a chance.”

“But it’s super convenient.” 

“And you’re mad. You’re fucking insane.”

“I drive to school and you walk and I drive past you everyday and it’s below freezing and you’re still walking, please, just get in the damn car. I’ll drive you.”

“Are you not hearing me? No.”

Richie shrugs theatrically, turning back to the steering wheel with a dramatic sigh. “Gosh, that is a shame.” He leans a hand of the button in the middle of the steering wheel. “A real shame.”

“Richie. Don’t you fucking—”

Richie presses his hand over the button, letting the car horn ring out again. Eddie’s face flushes even further as he steps into the gutter, leaning into the car to pull his hands off the wheel. 

“Richie— stop, fuck, get off—” 

Richie fights his hands away, pushing the horn with his elbow now as Eddie continues to shove at him. 

“Fine, I’ll get in the fucking car if you stop!” Eddie shrieks, desperately.

Richie instantly brightens, removing his hands from the wheel and folding them in his lap. There’s no better time to try out a new Voice. In his very best game show announcer, he cries, “Good choice!”

“Fucking hell,” Eddie mutters, as he readjusts his backpack and crosses in front of the car to wrench open the passenger side door. Once seated, he straps on his seatbelt and drops his bag at his feet, turning towards Richie expectantly. Richie’s still watching him, looking enthralled. “Well,”

“Right,” Richie says, reaching over to close the car door and pull out of the street. They sit in silence for the first minute, staring out the front window. “This is… fun…”

“Sure,” Eddie scoffs. “That’s exactly how I’d describe it.”

“How else would you describe it?”

“I’d probably say that a madman harassed me and then coerced me into getting into his car.”

“Mm, sexy,” Richie smirked. Eddie hit his arm, and Richie in turn pretended to swerve the car towards one of the snow banks. Eddie shrieked until he righted it.

“Asshole!” He cried, but he was laughing all the same. Richie laughed along. 

“See! I’m not crazy! I’m a shitty person instead!”

Eddie grins, and Richie wants to do nothing more than kiss his stupid cute face.

During third period English, instead of sitting at  
the desk behind Richie, Eddie sits further up, in the seat beside him and they snicker and bicker throughout the entire lesson.

FRIDAY

On Friday morning, Richie sleeps in. His alarm has been going off for about fifteen minutes before it finally sets into his subconscious and he wakes up with a jerk.

He races through his morning activities, which include having no breakfast let alone a “proper” one, and races out the front door. The snow has finally started to melt, which Richie can’t help but think is probably a sign. But maybe that’s just his inner romantic. 

Driving up Kossuth, he watches carefully out his window, watching and waiting to see if Eddie will appear. He’s late today, so there’s a chance he might already be gone.

Nonetheless, he spots him. Today, Eddie’s sitting on the curb, kicking at a slushy pile of snow in the gutter. When he hears the roaring of the engine, he glances up. When he sees that it’s Richie’s car, Richie swears that his face brightens. 

Once Richie pulls up beside him, he’s on his feet and crossing to the other side of the car. Opening the door he tosses his bag onto the floor and sits down, turning towards Richie with a bright grin. “Good morning, dickweed.”

Richie has to turn back to the road when he mumbles his greeting back to stop him from saying something stupid, like, ‘I love you’, or leaning over and kissing him. He supposes there’s plenty of time for that later, but now Eddie is rambling about the dog he saw when he was doing his homework last night through his window and Richie’s playing off that with a joke and things are pretty damn good for a sub-zero January day.

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> i haven’t written anything for multiple months which is very slack of me, but i found a list of fun prompts of tumblr (multiple months ago) and tried to get myself back into writing. and then it took me months to actually finish this. i have a whole bunch of wips in my drafts, so we’ll see if any of those ever get finished.
> 
> in other personal news, i started watching hannibal and i am hooked!
> 
> as always, you can find me on tumblr as @blackberryjqm. (as soon as i work out how to fix up links in these notes these will improve)
> 
> mwah! thank you all for being the eddie to my richie
> 
> \- sophie 
> 
> title from fast car by tracy chapman  
> link for prompt list: https://blackberryjqm.tumblr.com/post/640180921865224192/a-list-of-random-dumb-aus


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